by C. J. Chase
Not since the death of his brother Gregory’s son in the same epidemic that had taken Julian’s older brother.
Responsibility once again gnawed at him. He would have to marry, produce children—if only to provide reassurance and a promise of stability to the people on his estate, those whose lives and livelihoods depended on him and his family.
At the desk Teresa and her governess sat with heads bent over a book. Suddenly his niece glanced up and caught him lingering in the doorway. “Uncle Julian! Oh, and you’ve brought Aunt Caroline. How delightful.”
Miss Vance rose from her chair—slowly, her movements stiff and jerky. She had her hair pinned back in her usual straight, severe style. And yet he imagined a new softness in the wide hazel eyes that met his. Held.
Caro tugged on his hand.
“I hope we’re not interrupting.” He guided his younger sister into the room.
“Only in the best way. Miss Vance is valiantly trying to correct my atrocious French. A hopeless cause, I tell you.” Teresa swept forward and circled an arm around Caro’s shoulders, drawing her from Julian to her governess. “Miss Vance, this is my Aunt Caroline.”
“How do you do, Lady Caroline? Do you like stories? I thought perhaps we could read together this morning.” A smile touched Miss Vance’s lips and triggered the dimple in her cheek, transforming her face from plain to...something else. Julian’s breath caught in his chest.
Caro glanced uncertainly over her shoulder at Julian. Strange situations and new people always made his sister apprehensive. “It will be all right. Anna will bring your luncheon here later.”
“Then go home?”
“Not today—but soon.” Maybe. Julian surveyed Miss Vance over the top of Caro’s head. “How is your foot today?”
“Bruised and a bit swollen, but nothing broken, I think.”
“That’s good. I’m sorry to disrupt your day.”
“Well, I’m glad you did.” Teresa tilted her head at a jaunty angle. “I’m hopeless at French—I haven’t the ear for it. I only consented to learn the language so that in the event I ever meet Napoleon, I can tell him what I think.”
“And because your mother insisted.” Fondness laced Miss Vance’s words. “Although should you ever have occasion to speak to the little tyrant, no doubt he will find your accent his most severe punishment.”
“You see?” Teresa looked at Julian with a smug nod. “Hopeless.”
Julian let a smile escape. “My mother was raised in France.”
Teresa’s eyes grew wistful. “I know. I wish...”
“We’ll make it happen.” He didn’t know how he would convince Elizabeth to let Maman meet her oldest grandchild, but he would. Teresa needed her family. And so did Maman.
“I imagine you have excellent conversational skills in French, Uncle Julian.”
“Not exactly. My brother Kit—Christopher, that is—is the linguist. I excelled at mathematics. And teasing my sisters. That’s the reason our parents sent him to the university and me to the navy.”
“Perhaps you should stay, then.” A mischievous grin curved the corner of Teresa’s mouth. The matchmaking minx. “I’m sure Miss Vance would teach you French. And perhaps read to you also.”
If only he could read Miss Vance—her motives for her actions, her potential for betrayal. Would she yet deceive him? More and more he hoped not, believed not. Her real, and returned, affection for her charge suggested one who cared deeply for others. An image formed in his mind of a governess frantic to save an impoverished and invalid friend—enough to commit treason even? Was her crime borne of desperation rather than greed? “I’ll be out for a while, but I shall return this afternoon.” He intended to investigate the local pub. Not that he expected to learn much, but one should at least know the lay of the land. And since Miss Vance had informed the radicals of his presence in the neighborhood, he’d let them have a look. “Will you be staying?”
“Only for another hour or so. I’m to ride with Reggie this afternoon.”
A frown wiped away Miss Vance’s dimple. “Don’t ride too far.”
So she disapproved. Of a certainty the man had behaved dreadfully toward her, but surely she didn’t believe Fleming would abuse his cousin, did she?
Would he?
* * *
Leah held up another picture card for Lady Caroline. “What is this?”
“Dog.”
“Very good.” She looked into the uptilted eyes whose lids had started to droop. “And what does a dog say?”
“Woof.” Caroline touched the sketch—Teresa’s work, of course. Not Leah’s. “Like Henry.”
“Is Henry your dog at home?”
Lady Caroline nodded, sadness mingling with exhaustion in the wide blue eyes. “Miss him.”
“And I’m sure he misses you just as much.” Leah gave the girl’s narrow shoulders a squeeze.
Memories washed through her mind and yielded an unhappiness that matched Lady Caroline’s. Two decades ago, Leah had shared similar afternoons with her younger sister Phoebe. And afterward with a young Teresa.
Loneliness settled in her soul as she contemplated the future. And from here, where?
The door squeaked open and Leah shoved the melancholy images away. “Molly—” She stopped as she identified the handsome face and broad shoulders that entered the room.
“Jules!” Lady Caroline leaped from the chair and flew to her brother.
Leah’s heart began to pound at an accelerated rate despite her stern admonishments to herself. How ridiculous to develop a tendre for a man so far beyond her reach. And at her age, no less. A man who held her life—and her sister’s—in his hands. Pride straightened her spine lest he perceive her folly. “Can we help you, my lord?”
“I came to see how Caro fares.” Chambelston wrapped an arm around his sister.
Leah fought back the momentary spurt of jealousy at Lady Caroline’s good fortune. At least she—unlike Lady Caroline or her sister Phoebe—had the ability to provide for her own needs, no matter how onerous she found the task. Or rather, the employers. “I enjoy Lady Caroline’s company.”
“But is she too much extra work for you? That is...” He glanced around the room, a frown tugging at his mouth. “I don’t see Anna.”
“I sent her to manage Lady Caroline’s wardrobe.” Leah folded her hands and stared at him from over her fingers. “Anna is... That is, I think perhaps her talents would be better served as Lady Caroline’s maid than as her nurse.”
“Yes, I’ve become aware of her shortcomings.” Sorrow darkened his eyes. “Our nurse in Somerset is too old to travel such distances now. Indeed, my mother is Caro’s primary caretaker.”
His mother? The Countess of Chambelston?
A bit of his grief lifted from his face. “I see you are shocked at the notion of a mother caring for her own offspring.”
“Well, I must consider that if too many mothers followed her example, women like me would find themselves without means.”
“I think there will always be enough women like my sister that your future is secure.”
Secure. Would she ever know true security?
Chambelston drew his sister back to the picture-strewn table where Leah and Lady Caroline had been working before his interruption. “What have the two of you been doing?”
“Your sister has been learning the alphabet.”
He blinked, those long dark lashes sweeping against his cheek. “The alphabet?”
Leah lifted a picture card and showed it to Lady Caroline. “Tell your brother what this animal is.”
“Lion!”
“Very good! And what sound do lions make?”
The girl discharged a credible roar, her blue eyes alight with amusement. Even Chambelston emitted a chuckle.
“Exactly.” Leah picked up a card with a letter. “And what is this?”
“C!”
“And what sound does C make?”
“KKK. Like Caro.”
Lea
h patted the back of her hand. “Perfect.”
“This is wonderful, Caro.” Lord Chambelston tilted his head, a lock of gilded hair coming to rest across his brow as he looked from his sister to Leah. “But do you really think—”
Leah forestalled the rest of his question with a raised hand. “Perhaps you would like to look at pictures with your sister for a moment?”
He arched a brow at this command but obediently asked Lady Caroline about the next picture while Leah painfully crossed the room and rang the bell. She hovered there in the corner, watching the interaction between brother and sister, once more feeling the outsider.
The door glided open again. “Yes, Miss Vance? Oh, my lord!” Molly dropped into a curtsey, eyes downcast.
Leah patted the maid’s shoulder. “Molly, would you help Lady Caroline see to her, um, personal needs?”
“Of course, Miss Vance. If my lady will come with me?” Molly offered the girl an understanding smile as she took her arm and led her to a door at the far side of the schoolroom.
Leah waited until it shut behind them. “Yes, I think Lady Caro could learn to read.”
“Read?” Hope mingled with skepticism in his eyes. “Miss Vance, when I asked if there was anything you could do for my sister... I love Caro dearly, but she can barely feed herself. She needs assistance with the simplest tasks—such as even now.” He glanced meaningfully at the door where Lady Caroline had vanished with Molly.
“All those tasks involve her hands. Reading would engage her mind.”
“But she has the mind of a child of five years or so.”
“And many children of that age do read. Perhaps not Shakespeare, but they can recognize basic words. Consider, my lord, Lady Caroline can identify pictures and letters. Why not simple words?”
“I...don’t know what to say.” The blue in his eyes smoldered with...approbation? Even admiration?
As the silence stretched, tension tightened around her lungs. “I doubt Lady Caroline will ever be able to write so much as her name, but I see no reason why she couldn’t learn to read it.” Leah pushed the words through her constricted throat.
“When I asked you to assess Caro, I never expected... That is, like everyone else, I underestimated her.” He cupped Leah’s cheek, his palm warm and hard and strong against her skin. “Thank you, Miss Vance. Thank you for letting me see my sister in a new light.”
A door squeaked and footsteps tapped against the floor. Leah jerked back, her face still burning from Chambelston’s touch, as Molly and Lady Caroline returned. “I...ah...” She pulled her gaze from that mesmerizing stare and focused on anything other than the larger-than-life man in the room—the desk, the window, the wall, the clock.
The clock.
Lady Caroline had returned to her brother’s side, happily identifying pictures and even a few letters on the cards scattered across the desk.
Leah sidled closer to the maid. “Has Lady Teresa returned from her ride?”
“Not that I’ve heard.” Molly’s mouth flattened, her lips fading to white as she glanced from the clock to the window where the waning afternoon warned of coming darkness. “She went with Mr. Fleming, didn’t she?”
The two women shared a look that sent shock reeling through Leah. Molly, too?
“I’ll ask Mrs. Anderson.” The maid slipped out of the room.
Leah ambled to the desk where Chambelston still patiently plied his sister with questions. Her stomach churned with anxiety. And the proximity to the man in her schoolroom.
The one who looked up at her approach and smiled. “Miss Vance, may I talk to you about a position?”
“A position? I thought you already...employed me.”
“This is for a more traditional role. And perhaps more enduring. Caro enjoys your company, and you see potential in her no one else has. My niece is of an age where her need for a governess is coming to an end, and you will need a new situation. Would you consider a position in my household?”
A shard of disappointment sliced through her before she could stifle it. How silly, how ridiculous the longings of a lonely spinster. Instead she focused on what his offer meant for her future. Money—possibly more than customarily provided to an ordinary governess. Enough to cover Phoebe’s expenses? “Caring for your sister?”
“At our family seat in Somerset.”
The ray of optimism crashed against the shores of reality. Given the rift between Chambelston and Lady Sotherton, how often would the family travel to Northamptonshire? How could she visit Phoebe from so great a distance? “I—”
“Miss Vance?” Molly stepped into the schoolroom. “No one in the household has seen Lady Teresa since this morning. Would you like me to check with Wetherel?”
Leah glanced at the snow-covered gardens beyond the window, feeling the chill grow within her.
“I’ll go.” The gentle baritone rumbled along Leah’s spine. “If she hasn’t returned, I’ll mount a search,” Chambelston said.
“I’ll come with you.”
The tawny brows arched. “Miss Vance, may I remind you that by your own admission, you aren’t a proficient rider.”
“But I know the countryside.”
“So do Sotherton’s grooms, I imagine.”
Unfortunately he was right. Leah would slow him down. But she couldn’t let him go without her. What if Teresa had been thrown from her horse or shot at like Leah...or worse? Leah let her eyes fall shut for several long seconds. Images flashed through her mind, a combination of horrific memories and terrible imaginings. Bile raced to her throat at the dreadful possibilities. She couldn’t let Teresa be found without a woman present. “My lord, please...”
“Very well, get your things. You’d probably just follow anyway and then if you got lost, we’d have three missing people from the household.” He gave his sister a smile and a hug. “Molly can stay with Caro if that is agreeable.”
Despite the concern shadowing the maid’s eyes, she smiled. “I should enjoy that, my lord, but I must confirm that with Mrs. Anderson.”
“I’ll speak to her when I get my coat.” Chambelston pivoted and marched to the corridor.
Leah hobbled into her small chamber next to the schoolroom and glanced at her simple gown. Hardly a riding habit, but it would have to do. She shoved her feet into her battered boots, wincing as the stiff leather squeezed her bruised, swollen foot. She rammed her tattered bonnet over her hair, wrapped a scarf around her neck and grabbed her coat and gloves. Worry and hurry made her movements clumsy, and she was still struggling to find her coat sleeve as she limped into the hallway.
An assisting hand on her collar halted her. Her stomach tensed even before she turned and looked into blue, blue eyes. So close. Much too close. He had already retrieved his cloak, and she spied a brace of pistols tucked in his waistband. Did he also expect trouble?
“Ready?”
She nodded and led him down the narrow stairs that led to a door near the stable. The sun sat low on the horizon, warning of coming cold and darkness. Not even the stable’s warmth and sweet smells of hay and horses alleviated the horrible knot around Leah’s ribs.
Wetherel’s eyes widened at the sight of the two of them in the stable again.
Chambelston stepped forward. “Have Lady Teresa and Fleming returned from their ride?”
“No, my lord. Not yet.”
“Did they take a groom with them?”
“Lady Teresa assured me she didn’t need one to accompany her, seeing how she had her cousin.”
As if Fleming would be of assistance in a crisis. And indeed he would mostly likely be the cause of it.
“Saddle horses for Miss Vance and me—and for the grooms. We’ll search for them.”
Wetherel nodded and shouted orders to the stable boys. A swarm of activity ensued.
“Do you know where they intended to ride?”
“They were heading east when they departed, my lord.”
East. Toward the location where only yesterday Leah
had encountered Fleming, Chambelston and a gunshot.
“Very well, we shall begin in that direction.” Chambelston led Leah outside and lifted her onto a calm sorrel mare, his hands strong and solid under her foot. “An excellent choice of horse for you.” He mounted the black with an easy, masculine grace and then barked orders to the grooms to fan out on either side of them. His voice boomed with authority over the snowy landscape, offering Leah a glimpse of the commanding captain he’d once been.
Leah threaded the reins through her fingers and concentrated all her attention on maintaining her seat as they set off at a sprightly cantor. She peeked at the ground, so far below and disappearing so rapidly behind. No, better to keep her eyes focused on the darkening horizon. The chilly air gusted against her cheeks and tugged at her bonnet. They crested a knoll when one of the grooms exclaimed, “My lord, there!”
The groom on the far left pointed to a riderless bay trotting toward them. Lord Sotherton’s prize stallion. The group pushed their horses to even greater speed. Leah’s stomach fell as if it had tumbled from the horse when she spied the figures milling around a prostrate form. Cudgels rose and fell while a lone rider circled the group, weaving in and out of the trees, her frantic pleas carried on the wind.
Teresa.
Brave, foolish girl. Leah’s pride mixed with terrible fear.
Chambelston whipped out a pistol and raised it in the air. The shot reverberated over the rolling fields like the one Leah had heard only the day before. The attackers paused, then scattered in all directions, most heading to cover in the nearby trees.
Teresa vaulted from her horse and crouched next to the unconscious man on the ground as the five from the Abbey—three grooms, a governess and one English earl—drew near.
“See to Teresa!” Chambelston shouted as he wheeled his horse and pursued one of the fleeing assailants.
Leah pulled the mare to a halt and clambered out of the saddle. Her legs trembled and her foot ached as she trudged through the snow and knelt at Teresa’s side. The girl’s hat had disappeared during the fray. Locks of dark hair drooped from her chignon and wisped around her wide, frightened eyes.